We're All Mad Here
by frays
Summary: (a/u) When even a ghost of insanity strikes, the simple solution is to send the victim to an asylum. When Sydney Sage finds her supernatural abilities, her family sends her away, but perhaps her death will come from a green-eyed moroi rather than true madness.
1. 01

**Summary | (a/u) **When even a ghost of insanity strikes, the simple solution is to send the victim to an asylum. When Sydney Sage finds her supernatural abilities, her family sends her away, but perhaps her death will come from a green-eyed moroi rather than true madness.

**Disclaimer | **I do not own Bloodlines.

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_"Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop."_

— Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland._

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Sydney Katherine Sage was eighteen years young, born of an unlived life filled with discipline and calm order. She was young, but she was not free—her life had been filled with a desire to please her father and the people who worked above him, and even her childhood was made of strict order.

She had never stayed out past curfew, never drank until she passed out, never kissed a boy, and never screamed at her parents until her voice was hoarse like an ordinary girl her age would do as a routine.

Then again, Sydney Sage wasn't an ordinary teenage girl.

She was born from a strict father and following mother who lived by a tattoo of moroi and gold, and was raised to believe the same things they believed. She had learned to think the same way they did, and she had learned to share their beliefs. She had been taught the ways of a training alchemist, and she had been raised to share their morals and taboos.

She had learned that everything in life could be deducted to simple math and science, and she had believed that every feeling could be pushed away or ignored. Every thought of love or rebellion, thoughts she had yet to have, could be suppressed under walls of knowledge. Every liberty she had as a human could be tamed by the ink of the tattoo.

She believed that the day the golden lily was tattooed upon her cheek she would be protected from the dangers of the human world, and she would be given knowledge that the barriers of being a simple, closed-minded human would not be able to process.

To her, the golden lily was more of a blessing than a curse, but subconsciously, she held it as what would be safe. Knowledge was power, and the more knowledge she acquired, the more protected she would be. Running away from alchemy would be running away from the only life she had ever known.

She had never considered turning her back on alchemy because she didn't know if she would be strong enough to handle being away from the familiarity of the alchemists.

Turning away was impossible, but being forced away was inevitable.

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Though she had wanted to all her life, she had never seen the room in which believers were marked as an alchemist by the glimmering golden flower. She had asked time and time again when she was young, but she was always rejected by her father, telling her to wait until she was older.

When it was her time for the ink to bore into her skin, she found the room to be much of a disappointment.

The room was large, white, and clean. She wrinkled her nose—though she generally enjoyed cleanliness, the smell of rubbing alcohol and latex gloves burned her nose. Resisting the urge to cover her nose with her hand, she looked up to her father.

"Where is…whoever is supposed to be here?" Sydney inquired. Aside from herself and her father, the room was dead. "Are you going to tattoo me?" The thought of her father painting her face with a needle was unsettling to her, and she winced at the thought.

Her father let the sound of an opening door answer for the questioning blonde, and her golden eyes were brought to a man clad in a white laboratory coat and an expressionless face. His face was slightly alarming to Sydney—he looked to be dead in the eyes, holding a look that was near glassy.

"I'll assume you are Mrs. Sage?" Sydney held back from correcting the man that the addressing title was to be used for a married woman. She had learned that remaining quiet unless spoken to was often the easiest way to be respected by her uppers and elders.

She nodded her head once, commanding her platinum hair to fall in her eyes at the movement. The fallen hair was a way to busy herself, and she occupied the silence by tucking the long hair behind her ear and pinning it back with a bobby pin hidden in her hair.

"Lie down facing upwards on the mattress." Sydney went by his commands without argument. She laid gently on the papered mattress—more of a cot than a mattress—and let her golden eyes fixate on the ceiling.

"How long will this take?" Jared Sage asked, already seeming to be bored with the ritual. The man who she had identified as "Mr. Harris" from his nametag ignored her father and went to the counter.

From what Sydney could see he was arranging needles, comparing sizes and lengths before picking one up and holding it up to the too-bright lights. Seeming satisfied, he dipped the needle into the mixture of gold and moroi blood, filling the needle with the substance and going to the Sage daughter.

"Stay still," he pulled latex gloves on with a rubbery snap and used one of his gloved hands to hold her chin in place, "or else the spell will not hold."

"Listen to his words, Sydney—if you manage to ruin this, your chances of becoming an alchemist will dim or disappear completely." Sydney wanted to tell her father that she knew that already, and was too wise to thrash under a simple needle, but stayed still and silent.

Even her breathing was quiet, her chest barely moving with each breath. She avoided his mechanical eyes as he brought the needle closer to her cheek, tilting her face so that her cheek was more easily accessible.

The needle came into contact with her cheek, but did not touch her skin. Sydney's eyes flickered upwards, wondering slightly why she felt _nothing_ from the brush of the needle, but the tattooist looked just as confused as she was. An uncomfortable feeling built inside her, but she only clenched her jaw and waited for him to attempt to mark her cheek again.

The second attempt came, harder this time, yet the golden needle did not leave a mark on her cheek, and she felt no sensation of pain from the needle touching her cheek.

"Is there a problem?" Sydney asked finally, waiting a few moments for the doctor to give some explanation.

"Your body is rejecting the blood and gold the same way a moroi's body would reject the mixture."

"I'm not a moroi." There was a tone of offense in Sydney's voice, some disgust at being compared to a creature of the night laced in her voice. The tattooist gave her a hard look, shaking his head.

"I made an analogy, Mrs. Sage. Your body will not take the ink."

"That's impossible." Jared's voice cut through the confusion, "I am an alchemist, as were my ancestors and her mothers ancestors. Her blood is mine, and she is able to take the tattoo. Either you are not trying—"

"Mr. Sage, I am _trying_." His voice was slow, using the same voice one would use with a small child, "But your daughter is the issue. Not I."

Sydney slipped away from the mattress, standing and walking about the room while her father and the tattooist continued to argue about Sydney's blood. Their fighting made the issue no easier—she was more confused than she had ever been, and a blanket of panic was beginning to settle over her.

_Why can't I take the ink?_ She felt dizzy, overwhelmed by a tilting sensation. The world seemed to be pulling away from her, tugging itself away from her feet and leaving her to fall. The ground she had known was shaky, and the security alchemy offered seemed like less and less of an option as her father and the tattooist argued.

"_She will not be an alchemist_." Sydney made a noise that seemed to be both a gasp and a choke and gripped onto the edge of the counters to hold herself up. The sound commanded the attention of both the elders, and they both offered concerned looks to the blonde girl who looked like she were about to faint.

"Sydney? Sydney, are you all right?" Her father's voice sounded like she was listening to it while under water, and she herself felt like water was filling into her lungs. She was drowning in her mind, and she felt her grip on the counter tighten.

"I—I need—" She stumbled to the sink, splashing water onto her face with a quick movement. The water only seemed to burn her skin, and she looked up in the mirror to see if her face was physically burning.

Instead, she saw a reflection of herself with eyes glowing too brightly to look at. She blinked at herself for only a moment in some stun, watching as the gold color of her eyes seemed to burn with a fire as gold and hot as the sun would be.

A shriek escaped her throat, a sound she had never before made, and she pushed herself away from the mirror in a mad escape from her reflection.

_This isn't happening. You're dreaming._

She wasn't dreaming.

Her hands caught onto the edge of the mattress she had been lying on, and the mattress caught fire underneath her fingertips. Sydney pulled herself away from the mattress just as the fire swelled and consumed the mattress, a fire that was produced from her fingertips.

She felt arms around her, ushering her out of the building as the fire swallowed it much more quickly than a natural fire would. Her molten gold eyes caught sight of the flaming building, and she felt her hands tremble.

_I caused this._

She was blanketed by darkness, and welcomed the unconsciousness as an escape to the burning building behind her.

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question of the day:

do you have a tumblr?

leave a review c:


	2. 02

**a/n** thank you to the guests who reviewed c:

This chapter will be mainly in Adrian's POV—I like writing for guys, so this should be fun.

**Disclaimer | **I do not own Bloodlines.

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_"You would have to be half mad to dream me up."_

— Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland._

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Adrian hated the waking world.

He hated the walls of the cell he was most usually locked in, and he hated the suffocating feeling of being trapped, shielded away from the outside world. _If I was mad when they brought me here, it seems as though locking someone up alone would only fuel the insanity._

Though it had been nearly five years since he had been committed into the mental institution, he felt no change in his state of health. If anything, he felt the insanity more—he could see the insanity forcing its way into his mind and prying him open, the sight of which making him only more assured that he was truly insane.

He was fairly sure he would go completely mad if not for the very thing that was making him go insane.

His only escape from the mental prison was his dreams. The spirit in his blood helped him to walk among dreams while he slept and settle into those of the people who kept him sane. Every night, he would close his eyes and return home for even a moment with the people he loved and feel as though he were a little less mad than everyone believed him to be.

The more frequently he walked upon dreams the more the dark spirit built up inside him, but he couldn't find himself to give a damn. _We'll all die here, anyway—what's the point of trying and failing at curing ourselves in the meantime?_

He had given up on the dream of going back to court, and he bathed in the dreams that were driving him insane. At the end, he didn't care anymore—his only friend in the institution had been moved away from him because she was 'precious', and they believed that his darkness would lead him to lashing out at the green-eyed girl and truly hurt her.

Her name was Jillian Dragomir, and she was the younger sister of the queen. She was the most fragile person in the institution, but she wasn't half mad—she was always put in danger because of her sister's position.

Though the doctors tried to pass Jill off as insane, Adrian knew better—she would never be safe walking the paths of court even guarded. She would always be hunted and used, and Vasilisa was terrified of the fact that her only sibling was in danger.

Isolation was the only way Jill would truly be safe, and the only way to pass off a simple reason to isolate the girl would be to send her off to a mental institution.

Jill was only sixteen years old, and didn't have a clue why she was suddenly decided to be insane. She had never had the sensation of losing her mind as many of the patients of the institution had, and she had never lost grip of reality as she was said to have lost it.

She was the only reason Adrian hadn't lost his mind—a friendly face and familiar pair of eyes were comfort to him, and even though he could only see the kind-hearted girl at nighttime, it was enough to keep him from going truly mad. The spirited dreams kept him grounded, and the connection to the optimistic girl made him smile.

Or maybe it was only refreshing to meet someone who wasn't destined to die in their cell, trapped in madness as the rest of them were.

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"How are you feeling?"

Adrian's striking eyes narrowed at the doctor, wanting to punch the man. It was a man he had always hated, but a man he saw each day—he was sent daily to the doctor as some form of therapy, forced to confess his thoughts or feelings.

_How can someone have new thoughts or feelings if all they do every day is stare at a grey wall?_

"I'm feeling the same way I did yesterday. And yesterday? I was feeling the same way I did the day before. It's _exactly the same_. Every single day." The answer was a variation of the same reply Adrian fed the doctor each day, and the only reply he felt fit.

"Adrian," After two years of visits, the doctor had given up on formal titles with the stubborn royal, "Try and work with me on this."

"I really doubt there's a point. I tell you what I think, and you just write it down. I pretend to be insane, and you just write it down. I pretend to be fine, and _you just write it down_. I'd rather write in a goddamned journal than make a spoken-word book with an uncaring asshole as the recorder."

His doctor only looked down to his page and scribbled out a few notes, more likely about how agitated the moroi was. "How is your magic?"

"Useless," Adrian leaned back in the chair, folding his arms behind his head in a display of uncaring emotions, "I can't heal or grow—my magic is useful, but it doesn't do very much good when I'm the only company I have."

"And your dreams?"

"The anti-depressants have stopped them completely." Lie. He had been smashing the pills each day into a powder and scattering them about the room to look like dust, completely harmless when a maid came to clean while he was at therapy.

His doctor seemed to be satisfied with Adrian's response, and he wrote a short-worded note down on his notepad.

"Am I allowed to know what you're writing?" Adrian asked, already knowing what the answer would be. His doctor answered by shaking his head once, writing another note below his after the question was uttered, "How about asking when you're letting me out of this?"

"Out of the institution?"

"Nah, I already know that you're going to let me rot here. I meant when I was getting out of these daily therapy sessions. As much as I love bonding with you, these talks get a bit tedious and repetitive. Don't you think, Abe?"

"Don't call me Abe," He adjusted the tag on his shirt that read "Dr. Mazur", "Call me by my title, or do not refer to me at all."

"How should I reference you if I'm not supposed to say your name, Abe?" A glimpse of a smile played over Adrian's face, "Should I just clap when I wish to reference you?"

"You will reference my by my title." Adrian could see that the older man was becoming more annoyed and grinned, moving his lips in a smile that showed his white fangs.

"Come on, Abe—I dated your daughter for half a year. Wouldn't that make us friends?"

"That's the reason you aren't permitted to call me Abe," He wrote another short note on his paper, "But I needed to inform you of your rooming situations."

This spiked Adrian's interest, and he gave Abe a confused look, "Am I changing rooms?"

"No, you're staying in the same room, but you're receiving a different roommate." Abe watched Adrian, looking carefully for the surprise or happiness on the green-eyed man's face.

"_Different_? I haven't had a roommate since you decided that I was too dangerous for Jill. Is this one permanent, or are you going to decide that I'm too dangerous and move him like you did with Jill?"

"_She_, and she isn't being moved. I don't believe you'll hurt her, but in case you wish to, please refrain from doing so—I have connections with her family that I need intact, and if you strangle her with roses or whatnot, I doubt her family would be happy to maintain those connections."

"I can't strangle anyone with roses—I haven't touched a flower in half a decade, and I can't magically grow flowers and make them dance at my command. I'm not a faerie." Abe sighed at the distracted boy, shaking his head.

"I know she will be scared of you, but _please_ don't do anything to her to make her even more terrified of you." The words made Adrian pause, and he stilled to watch the assertive man with concerned green eyes.

"Why the hell would she be afraid of me?" He thought to ask if the girl was a human, but he knew better—the institute was filled with moroi and dhampirs, and he knew that none of the doctors would dare to expose even an insane human to the hidden world behind the glamour. "Did you go and make some rumor that I bit Jill so that you'd be more popular among the royals? Because I'm sure they'd believe any lie about me that you would try to feed them."

"I made no such rumor—I'm plenty famous in court." Abe seemed proud of himself at the statement, and Adrian had to fight to suppress some comment on the nature of his fame coming from deals and cheating.

"Then what's the problem?"

Abe sighed gently, shaking his head. Adrian could see Abe piecing together the best way to phrase the news in his head, and the sight made Adrian nervous. He felt his stomach turn, but for once in his life, he stayed silent out of pure curiosity.

"She's an alchemist."

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question of the day:

who do you like better: lissa or jill?

leave a review c:


	3. 03

**a/n | **Thank you for anyone who read, alerted, or reviewed c:

Another thing: the introduction was a bit short, and not the most described, but this is still in the introduction. The chapters will be longer after I have introduced the characters, so the first three or four chapters will be something of a long introduction.

**Disclaimer | **I do not own Bloodlines.

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_"Have I gone mad?"_

— Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland._

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Jill ran her small hands over the walls of the large room, much too big for a single person—though she had learned from her older sister that royalty included luxuries being thrown at you, she couldn't see any sense in having such a large room for only one girl.

Though the room was large, it had quickly grown boring to her. It was simply a room, after all—what sort of person would be able to find amusement in four walls and a ceiling? No matter high the ceiling was or how tight or open the walls were, it was a room all the same, and she missed her small room with Adrian.

Though she hadn't known Adrian personally when the both of them were in court, he knew her sister well, and that was enough for Jill to welcome Adrian as a mobile home. He was the closest thing to familiarity she would see, and she accepted his spirit-induced madness as some strange normal.

As compared to the people of the institute, Adrian was completely sane—he had his mind, save moments of randomly strung words due to the darkness, and he had the same personality he did when Jill had met him: sarcastic, sadistic, amused, and bright. He was much like Christian Ozera, the fire-user that Jill had known for _much_ longer than she had known Adrian, but she was fairly sure Adrian wouldn't want to hear it.

Jill was the only one in the institution who was completely sane, but she was much too trusting. When she was written off as insane, she believed it. She believed that she had lost her mind when they told her she had, and she believed that she was going insane whenever she had a strange thought.

She chalked everything down to insanity simply because she was unlike Adrian, and she couldn't bring herself to believe that she was sent to as mental institution simply because she was _unsafe_.

There were plenty of people much more dangerous in the institution than there were at court, in Jill's opinion—she could remember Avery Lazar attempting to stab her with a fork only a few days ago, but she was protected by the man who was both her guardian and her doctor.

Still, Adrian's words stayed in her mind. When she roomed with him, he would repeat the truth to her each day so that it would drill into her mind and so that she would have a stronger desire to run away from the institution.

He believed that she would be able to manipulate her way into returning to court if she believed him, but she never did—she didn't believe someone would lock her away purely because they were unsure how to protect her otherwise, and trusted the judgment of her uppers.

She was innocent, gullible, and naive; she was a girl.

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"How have you been?"

This was a question uttered to Jill every day, but the question was different than the one asked to the other patients. The question was for the doctor's sake for he wanted to know how she was, how happy she was, how safe she was. He wanted to know if she was afraid or hurt so that he could shield her from the institution, and frankly? He wanted to know everything about her.

She saw the question as routine, but each time he asked her how she had been, his hazel eyes whispered, _"I love you."_

She was gullible to the way that the young doctor, not even eighteen, loved her, and she was innocent to the nature of his love. She was small, and she was unexposed. She didn't have a clue what love was, how to fall in love, or how to distinguish the obvious look of love in a man's eyes when he was in love with her.

Or perhaps this was because this doctor was the only man who had fallen in love with the jade-eyed water user, and the only man who would take a thousand bullets simply so she could smile.

His name was Edison Castile, but she knew him as Eddie.

"I've been the same," Jill offered him a bright smile, and Eddie smiled in turn from the contagious optimism the look held, "I used the chalk you gave me to try and draw on the walls like you said, but I don't like drawing very much—Adrian might appreciate them more, but I get frustrated when I draw. Because I draw badly."

Eddie chuckled softly at the rambling girl, answering questions he hadn't yet asked, "Have you encountered Avery recently?"

Jill shook her head quickly, accidentally bringing curls of brown hair to fall in her eyes. She frowned, trying to smooth the wavy curls behind her ear, obviously distracted by her hair. Eddie felt the urge to brush the hair aside for her, but he wouldn't give himself the liberties of touching her porcelain skin or glossy hair.

"Who?"

"Avery Lazar—surely you remember her?" His voice was teasing, and he had to keep himself from laughing when the look of annoyance crossed Jill's lovely features.

"I didn't hear you," Jill murmured, then brightened, "I haven't seen Avery in the last week—is she still here?"

Eddie responded with a short nod, then elaborated, "She's being put in isolation at the moment, and when she is finished with her punishment, she will be put in a therapeutic session."

"I don't understand you when you talk like that, Eddie."

"Maybe because the information is supposed to be confidential." Eddie glanced back down at Jill, watching as she blinked her eyes in a begging way, looking to him innocently. He groaned—the look always got him, and he was always talking before he knew what he was saying, "Avery's being put into complete isolation. It's a different level of isolation than routine—she only receives food through a small window, and gets a small bag of old blood each day as food for a week or two. Then, she'll be taken into therapy."

Jill frowned at the thought—she wasn't as particular about her source of blood like Adrian was, she was still revolted by the thought. Like any moroi, she tried to drink from the source, and was grateful the institution provided a line of feeders at lunch as they had at school. Blood mixed into drinks was sickening, but the thought of drinking stale blood left a sickening taste of copper in her mouth.

"That sounds disgusting."

"It is." Eddie stood up, sitting on the table by Jill in an unprofessional way, but he wasn't much of a professional when it came to Jill. He spoke to her easily, and rarely took notes on her behavior because he knew she was perfectly sane. He loathed the fact that the angelic girl had to be trapped in such a place, and though he knew it would make no difference, he wrote short notes each day of Jill's progression.

Though it was 'safe' for Jill in the institution, it wasn't _right_ in his mind—she wasn't half-mad, but she blindly believed the lie that she was with each passing day. She listened to her superiors telling her that she was losing her mind, but she would easily be cured, and Eddie was terrified that the thought of being insane would drive true insanities into her mind.

She was too lovely to fall under the grip of darkness, and she was too pure to believe that she was going to lose her mind. The thought drove nightmares into her mind, and the descriptions of the nightmares shook Eddie when she spoke them to him the next day.

"You're not crazy, Jill." Jill looked up to him, confused, and Eddie held up a hand to quiet her so that he could finish his train of thought, "You don't truly believe you are, right?"

"I don't know," Jill said slowly, letting her green eyes flicker down to the ground, "How can you define someone as insane? Isn't everyone both crazy and sane in their own right? It's a matter of perspective, not what you write on a paper."

Eddie chuckled softly, "You're sounding like Ivashkov with your poeticism, Jill." He had never thought of Adrian's spirit-induced ramblings as insanity as others had diagnosed it as. Though Adrian wasn't completely sane, Eddie thought of Adrian's nonsensical words as a different form of artwork. The green-eyed moroi was an artist in more ways than one, and even with his moments of 'insanity' he managed to paint a haunting picture with his words.

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"It's a compliment, Jill." Eddie's hazel eyes drifted to the clock, signaling him that he only had a few more minutes with her. He hastily picked up his clipboard and pen, putting down some random notes to make it seem as though he had been observing her like she was some animal for the past half hour.

_No bad dreams. Afraid of patient Lazar after attack (rational). Extremely calm. Happy. Feeling claustrophobic in this building. Misses her sister._

He wrote something of the sort each day—though the positive notes would never be enough, he saw it as all he could to help save Jill from what he called a prison.

"Goodbye, Jill. I'll see you tomorrow."

Though it tortured him, at the end of the day, he knew that he could do nothing to save the fragile girl.

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question of the day:

What's your favorite Disney movie? Mine is _Frozen_ after watching it countless times c:

Leave a review, and tell me what you thought c:


	4. 04

**a/n: **thank you to **koryandrs**, **KyKat**, **springbreakers**, and **Ironmanlover13** for reading and reviewing the last chapter of this fic c: I'm hoping to get back into this fandom, so feel free to PM me and become my friend—I like people ;3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bloodlines.

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_"But I don't want to go among mad people."_

— Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland._

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Sydney blinked her golden eyes open to heavy hands and blinding lights, both dazed and confused. She felt as though she were still inside the burning building, and she felt as though she were still in a terror that made her hands shake and heart beat too quickly.

"Dad?" She was slightly confused that her first question was a call for her father, but it made some sense—he was the last person she saw before she fell unconscious, and was therefore the final thing on her mind, "Where are you?"

She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lights before looking about the room with some confusion, finding only three bodies. Two of the bodies were unfamiliar, and one held the figure of her father, "Dad?"

Her golden eyes flickered down to her hands, and she was surprised to find them covered in thick gloves, too tight around her wrists for her to pull off. She grimaced, tugging at the uncomfortable fabric to no avail. Her eyes went back to her father, still tugging at the fabric, and waited for her father's response.

"We're trying to put together what happened back there." Sydney gave her father a curious look, "Sydney, that was not _natural_. Do you understand that?"

"I understand that…fire shooting from my hands isn't an everyday thing, but it wasn't me. I know it wasn't. It isn't possible—only a moroi fire user can maintain that ability, and I'm not moroi, or anything. I'm not even an alchemist." Her hand went up to her cheek as though hoping that a golden lily had bee tattooed on her cheek while she was asleep, but her face remained as bare as it had been all her life.

"If you were an alchemist it would make no difference." The words from the tallest man were spoken with a defensive tone, and Sydney cringed at his words. "We have no access to any supernatural abilities."

"Then what was that?"

"We don't know," Though Sydney's father was not a gentle-spoken man, his words were like a blanket in comparison to the ones of the tall man, "We were deliberating ways to figure out before you woke."

"You don't need to stop for me." Sydney spoke quickly—she was afraid of the solution going unsolved, and knew it would keep her awake at night for many nights if she could not piece together the puzzle.

"Mrs. Sage, it may be better for you to step outside for a moments time." Sydney nearly cringed at the second misuse of the title "Mrs," but she refrained again from mentioning it to the short stranger who had been quiet since she had spoken.

"You're forcing me away? This is more my issue than yours, and I need to find out what you're planning," Sydney pulled again at the tight gloves, "Or why you put these on me while I was asleep."

Sydney's father spoke a few short words to the shorter man, someone she distinguished to be "Mr. Barnwell", and she continued to tug at the gloves that were beginning to make her feel claustrophobic.

"We decided that those gloves may help restrain your…magic."

She visibly revolted at the term, associating magic with demonic powers and inhuman vampires in her mind. Though she had never met a moroi, she hadn't heard the best of things about the species, and wasn't looking forward to her first encounter with one.

"I don't have any _magic_, Mr. Barnwell," Sydney's golden eyes narrowed, "The mattress was flammable. Something happened, but it wasn't me."

"It _was_ you," the taller man who she had yet to identify took a step closer to the blonde girl, "And you know it."

_He's trying to provoke me._

_He thinks something will happen if he does._

"I don't know anything, and neither do you. You weren't present at the time of the fire. You are speaking off words from another, not a primary source. Unless you can find a way to make me…levitate a chair, or something of the sort, you don't know _anything_."

"_Sydney, enough!_"

The voice cracked through the air like a whip, and she turned to see her father glaring at her with impossibly cold eyes and a harsh face. She quieted her prepared argument and watched her father carefully, bringing her golden eyes up to his face with an obvious question in her eyes.

"Dad, I—"

"You know something happened back there. You screamed, and you couldn't stand straight. You looked in the mirror and ran away as though you had looked into the eye of a beast. You can't pretend that nothing happened, Sydney."

The eyes of the three men were on her with hard precision, watching her as though she would either get up and flee or set the room on fire. She was unsure as to why they were watching her so carefully, and curious as to what they would do if she did either of the two.

"Something happened, but I don't know what. I—"

"Sydney, give us a little time." Sydney's father spoke only moments after the small confession, and she blinked in surprise as to how fast he had spoken, "Please."

The golden-eyed girl could only bob her head up and down in a display of obedience, the only emotion she had truly mastered. Following was easy; paving her own path was unthinkably difficult.

Sydney slipped out of the room, shutting the door and looking away. She was unsure what they were speaking of, but the sickening feeling in the base of her stomach told her that it was most likely not the best thing.

Or maybe the magic had brought in unwelcomed paranoia.

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"Something needs to be done."

"She could be sent to a reeducation center."

"No, that won't work—whatever she has won't be removed by simple reeducation."

"There isn't much of a better option, is there?"

Jared Sage was watching silently as Mr. Barnwell and Mr. Sullivan went back and forth about his daughter's punishment, a conversation he had been silent in thus far. He didn't speak because he couldn't grasp a suitable solution for Sydney's residence, but the other men looked to him frequently, expecting him to offer a solution.

"She can't be sent to reeducation—she isn't an alchemist yet. The ink didn't take. I don't think it will take in the future, either." Jared finally supplied, only bringing more confusion to the men.

Neither of them knew _what_ to do with the girl—all they knew was that _something_ had to be done to contain her until further information was provided on the subject matter. The power revealed in the girl was something they believed to be dangerous, and her strange power was something the alchemists wanted to investigate further, the _how_ of it a clear unknown.

"She can't be left alone with . . . whatever she has." Mr. Sullivan voiced the thoughts of the three men, thoughts obvious enough to go unvoiced, but he didn't seem to care that his observation was obvious, "She needs to be contained in some way."

"What way do you have?" Jared questioned, "When the only idea you've provided is sending her to a place to brainwash _alchemists_, something my daughter is not?"

"Mr. Sage, please don't be defensive—"

"I'm not defensive; I'm logical. The suggestion can simply not be passed, and until a better idea is provided, there's nowhere to send Sydney," The two doctors were both unconvinced that Jared Sage's argument was for the sake of logic rather than his daughter, but the men didn't know Jared Sage.

He was a father, but he was different than most men with the title.

The title "daddy" was one used by young girls to the iconic man in their life, but he was never that man to Sydney—or any of his daughters, for that matter. He was a father, but he wasn't a _dad_—he never tossed them in the air in a way that made his wife scream and he never danced his daughters around a room while they spun and laughed in ecstasy. He was always busy working, and busy planning for his daughter's futures, futures that involved working with alchemists in his mind.

His devotion to his work made his daughters scared of him when they were young, and he never developed the father-daughter bond that many little girls spoke of. He never loved his daughters in the way an ordinary father would, and in turn, his daughters treated him with more respect than love.

This lack of love was the reason he didn't shelter his daughters, and the reason the next words passed his lips:

"Send her to Saint Vladimir's Institution."

.

"Ms. Sage, you can come back in now."

Sydney Sage had always been the girl to follow rules, and she had always been the one who blindly obeyed anyone's requests. For this reason, she hadn't eavesdropped on the conversation only a door away, and was both nervous and agitated for whatever her father and the men would say to her.

"I think you're going to want to sit down, Ms. Sage." Sydney gave Mr. Sullivan a strange look, but she obliged, and slowly led herself to the chair that seemed to be more for decorative purposes than actual function. She winced at the strange angle the chair held her back at, pressing her lips together so that she could focus on the three men in the room.

"Why am I sitting down?" The question was ill formed, but she couldn't bring herself to care about the wording her father would reprimand her for—she was scared, and she was curious.

"Well, Mrs. Sage," Sydney smiled lightly at the finally correct title, "We were deliberating your location for the time being."

The blonde girl's smile dropped, "My _location_? What do you mean by that?"

Mr. Sullivan looked at her as though she had interrupted him by screaming about elephants, but he dismissed the annoyance, "Ms. Sage, you will need to be relocated to a safe place while the alchemists study your condition."

"I don't have a condition."

"You _do_, and we're attempting to figure out what your condition _is_." Sydney cringed lightly, but he continued, "We discussed sending you to a reeducation center, but you aren't an alchemist, and we are unsure as to how our methods would cure you."

She bit back a second interruption about how she had no need to be "cured" but again bit her tongue instead, sighing softly. She waited for Mr. Sullivan to continue, but she observed slowly that he was waiting for her response, "I don't understand your conclusion to this—are you going to let me go home?"

"Not home, but you will be able to go back to your regular living space within a year or two, and—"

"A _year_? You're dragging me away from my family for a full year?" This time, the golden-eyed girl didn't care about interrupting, and she didn't care about watching the sharp look her father gave her for being impolite.

"Sydney, let Mr. Sullivan finish." Jared's voice was as toneless as steel, and Sydney sighed, but she quieted herself down.

"As I was saying, we decided that sending you to a place of partial isolation would be best. Leaving you with humans wasn't an option with your knowledge, so we opted for the next-best solution."

"I'm going with alchemists?"

"You're going with the moroi and dhampirs of Saint Vladimir's Institution."

.

question of the day:

**What are your otp's? **Mine are Klaroline, Malec, and Mtydia — Sydrian and Jeddie for this fandom, though the ship name bugs me (why does Eddie get all the letters? come on, dude—share with Jill.)

**Drop a review in the box below—he's waiting for you ;)**


	5. 05

**a/n: **thank you to **koryandrs**, **AssassiansVow2012**, **springbreakers**, **Guest**, and **hope** for reviewing (ignoring the flame c: )

this chapter has sydney and adrian meeting, so be ready for that, and enjoy reading c:

**disclaimer: **I donut own bloodlines. or donuts. (puns are nice.)

.

_"Well, I never heard it before, but it sounds uncommon nonsense."_

— Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland._

.

Adrian ran his hands along the cool edges of his bed frame, smiling lightly at the cold touch that most would revolt to — the cold was a settling difference in the indifferences of the small room, and even a cold bar of metal was change enough for him to feel as though he were keeping his mind calm.

_Isn't using a chilling piece of metal as a security blanket only further proof that you're losing your shit?_

"I'm not losing my mind," Adrian spoke in a soft voice, using the melodies of his words as some form of company — the lull of his own voice sounded like a confiding soul next to him, and was settling in some way. "These walls are my destruction, and the sunlight will be my salvation."

The sober poetry flooded his lips without so much as a second thought. The mindless ramblings were some normal for him, and normal was settling. Though the spirit-induced words scared him at one point, he had learned to see them as some comfort, seeking out a friend in the usual slurs.

The words were part of the reason he was condemned to the tight walls, but he had learned to ignore the whys of his damned state, and focused on dreaming of the escape when he wasn't stumbling along the dreams of others.

He tried not to focus on the fact that he wouldn't be alone for as long as he had thought he would be — with any other subject, he would have been smiling at the thought of a woman arriving, but the tables were turned with the nature of her being.

She was an alchemist — he had learned from Abe that she had yet to be bound to alchemy, but Adrian's soul wasn't eased. He wasn't _afraid_, exactly. He was worried, for both his sake and the sake of the arriving girl.

He hadn't known many alchemists through the duration of his days at court, but knew that they weren't too keen on moroi or dhampirs, and was sure that a certifiably insane moroi would be no walk in the park for her. Though he had yet to meet the unnamed alchemist, he was positive that she would be terrified of him — most humans were scared even of a schizophrenic man walking drunkenly along the streets. Being forced to share a small room with a man called insane who survived off of blood would be more terrifying than living in a horror house.

She wouldn't be any different — how could she be? If a child were taught that being gay was wrong all their life, they would be prejudiced, and possibly scared of a homosexual man or woman. The lessons passed down from a parent to a child were held for life, and being taught from an infantile state that vampires were the devils of the earth would be a bit harder to shake than a homophobic nature.

He wished that she would find some way to ignore his nature, but he knew it impossible — something so prominent as being moroi was impossible to hide with even a stretched smile to hide his fangs or alluring words to distract her. She was some form of an alchemist, and would be intelligent more likely than not.

There was a knock on the door, a knock Adrian found pointless — he wasn't able to open the door from the inside, and knew they would walk in without comment, but he offered a weak greeting, "Come in,"

He wasn't too sure what he had been expecting — his therapist, perhaps — but the sight of two men dragging along a small blonde girl was completely away from his set mind frame.

"Number 54602?" Adrian's fingers clenched around the cold bar at the name that he loathed, "This is patient 68310."

"My apologies, but could you give me a real name? Not everyone goes around like Neanderthals calling people by numbers as your sort likes to." The smile that slid onto Adrian's face ricocheted back with an annoyed glare, and the men dumped her on the spare bed none too gently.

"68310 speaks English. You can ask her yourself when she comes to."

"'Comes to'? What did you do, cover her mouth with chloroform and drag her?"

"Chloroform is illegal, much unlike the movies you watch—"

"I don't watch movies. Talking to myself doesn't count." Adrian gestured to the walls, barren of any entertainment. The men in black seemed to ignore his interruption, finding no amusement in the moroi man.

"—and she passed out when she arrived here, possibly derived from shock."

"Shock from what? The awful state you keep this joint in? The realization that everyone here is a fucking _joke_?" He had more to say, but he found no point in continuing his speech on the state of the institution and the hopeless environment once the door was slammed and the men left.

Adrian watched the door for only a few moments before throwing away the time wasted, heading to something that could be of some use. Standing up carefully, he moved to the girl on the spare bed, sitting on the bed near her stomach and looking her over.

Her light face was covered by a mass of tangled blonde hair, but moving the knotted hair signaled him quickly that she wasn't a true alchemist. It was a fact he had known from Abe, but still comforting in a way.

She was pretty, but Adrian had known many beautiful women, and most of them would be his with a simple glance. Many of them were much more beautiful than the blonde girl lying on the bed, but something about her captivated him, but he was unable to grasp for whatever made the girl stand out.

His eyes roamed her face and body for a few moments more, trying and failing at grasping the standout, but his eye soon caught the difference in the half-alchemist. His mahogany eyebrows rose in some curiosity, and a quarter of a smile broke his lips.

Her aura was a golden tone, the same color as a dimmed sun. The aura was nearly pure, and it held none of the blackness that his own held from the spirit, but it was spotted with a royal purple color.

_Passion._

The trait was something he hadn't expected to find in the girl — fear, possibly, or purely intelligence, but the deep color brought some curiosity into his eyes.

He wanted to focus on the colors, but moved away not to scare her, and opted to count the tiles on the walls.

.

"Are you a moroi or a dhampir?"

The slow-spoken words were not the first ones he expected to hear from the girl, and brought Adrian's attention immediately. He sat up from is lying position, locking eyes with the blonde girl who was now staring at him.

A full smile spread over his lips, a smile that allowed his fangs to show, "Take a guess."

The girl visibly moved further back on her bed; shifting towards the wall and away from the subject she was speaking to. Adrian laughed, and she pulled her knees close in some form of what looked to be comfort, "Who are you?"

"A moroi — I thought I made that clear with my "weird teeth", but from your reaction, you seem to have limited experience with vampires."

"I was hoping for some name."

"Adrian Ivashkov." He would have offered some charming smile with the royal title, but refrained from the automatic flirtation — she was alarmed already by his teeth, and would possibly faint again if he provided a second smile, teeth hidden or not.

"In that case, I apologize for Tatiana, but I'm not going to . . . bow for you." Another peal of laughter came from Adrian, and he shook his head.

"I've received already enough apologies pertaining to her death, and unless you yourself stabbed her, I don't need sympathy from you. And you aren't expected to vow unless you meet Lissa."

"Lissa?"

"Vasilisa Sabrina Rhea Dragomir."

Sydney blinked at him, "You're on personal terms with the queen?"

"I've known her before she was queen, but I wasn't there for her coronation. But yes, I suppose I am." Adrian smiled fondly at the memories of his old close friend, reminding himself to walk upon her dream that night.

"If you know her so well, why hasn't she tried to get you out of here?"

"She has, but she has little say in who stays and who leaves here. Her little sister is here, but Jill isn't living it up in Court as she's supposed to," Adrian could see from her face that she was confused by the casual names, and elaborated, "Jillian Mastrano Dragomir."

"She's here? I thought—"

"Whatever you thought is wrong," Adrian cut in quickly, never the patient one. "You'll hear about her later, I'm sure. Now, down to the basics: your name?"

"Sydney Katherine Sage." Her introduction was confident, but her smile wavered as she touched her cheek lightly, pulling her hand away in some disappointed fashion.

"So, Sage, why do they think you're crazy?"

"Sage?" The nickname made Sydney frown, clearly one she hadn't heard before.

"You gave me three names, and I opted for the shortest one. Now, what's the answer to question two?" His reasoning behind her nickname wasn't the strongest, but it made enough sense to him.

"I'm not crazy. I just . . . caused a fire."

"You 'caused a fire'? How? Cooking for too long?" Adrian was aware that his sarcasm wasn't too appreciated by the formal girl, but it was difficult for him to speak without a snarky undertone cutting in.

"No. I don't know. I touched a bed, and it caught on fire, and then the room caught fire." She sounded as though she were reading off a list of chronological events, stating them as facts simple as science.

"Like a fire user?"

"Do _not_ compare me to a moroi, please. I'm human — I don't have any of the magic your kind uses." Her words were confident for the first time in their exchange, and Adrian chuckled lightly at the striking words.

"Apologies — I'd be offended at being compared to Ozera, too."

Sydney didn't know which Ozera he was speaking of, but decided against asking him. She blinked her golden eyes at him, deciding to voice his question back to him, "So, Adrian, why do they think you're crazy?"

"Darkness. Spirit overdose. Ramblings." Adrian spoke his "conditions" as though reading off some prescription or warning label, sounding bored already.

"Spirit overdose?"

"I'm sure you've heard of spirit users."

Sydney frowned, looking to her hands as she thought back to what she had been told on the moroi that manipulated spirit. The lesson was short — the alchemists had yet to reveal deeper information to her, and the subject was a grey area in the history the alchemists had recorded — but she knew a few things on the beings, "I've heard of them, and I believe I can safely guess that you're one of the sort."

"Bingo."

The conversation fell apart, and Sydney laid back on her bed, shutting her eyes though she was hardly tired. She thought to ask Adrian what the time was, but she chose not to — she doubted that he would have any clue in the windowless room, and there was no clock on the walls.

_Go to sleep, Sydney. _

Her command went unheeded by her body, and she turned onto her side, facing the wall instead of the moroi man she thought to be dangerous, much too attractive for his own good.

_It'll be better in the morning._

Even as her mind lulled into sleep, she knew it wouldn't.

.

* * *

question of the day:

**who is your favorite fictional character? **I like **tate** from _american horror story_ and **magnus** from _the mortal instruments._

leave a review in the box below c:


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